Chapter One: a new case
It was merely ten A.M. and I had not quite risen from my bed when my
wife informed me that I received a telegram from Sherlock Holmes. It
stated that I should meet him at his house on Baker Street immediately.
From the promptness of this message, I assumed that it was due to the
appearance of a new case. He hadn't received a case in many months and
I had begun to worry about my friend's well-being, therefore this news
was definitely a positive turn of events. I quickly put on my coat and
bid my wife farewell. Heading out the door and stepping into the hansom
cab, my mind couldn't help but wander upon what the next extraordinary
case must be about.
I arrived at 221b Baker Street perhaps a short time later than he
had expected me. Holmes was pacing up and down as he usually does while
thinking deeply. When he sees me enter the room, he jumps gleefully and
runs over to where I stand. He shakes my hand energetically and says as
if in a rush "There you are. I have been awaiting your arrival. Please,
Watson, have a seat." He pulls me over to one of the chairs by the
fireplace that I know so well and offers me a pipe.
I take up his offer, and relax in my chair smoking the pipe
luxuriously. The detective's long gaunt body lounges back in his chair
with his legs extending out in front of him. He seemed relieved that I
was here to assist him in his investigation. "I received a letter
yesterday of the utmost curiosity," he begins, "It was addressed to me
by an unknown sender. The contents of the letter are that of a romantic
interest. The letter is on my table. Pray would you read it?"
"Certainly," said I.
I grabbed the paper from the table and read it aloud.
"My dear Sherlock [it said],
I've been watching you for a long time, and you always amaze me. It's
pained me to retain my feelings from you for as long as this, but I
must truly say I cannot simply express my feelings in words. Perhaps
someday, I shall show my feelings for you in person. Until that day
comes, I wish you the greatest happiness, and farewell,
Very Truly Yours,
"What do you think of it?" asked I sincerely.
"Honestly, I do not know what to think of it," Holmes replies, "It is
a very simple message. But as I always say, the most simple of
mysteries are always the most difficult to uncover. The obvious facts
are as follows. The person who wrote this claims to have tender
feelings towards myself, and they intentionally left the name blank as
to prompt me to guess who they are. Therefore, they are keenly aware of
my analytical skills. The person stated that they have been watching me
for a long time, so then they either know me personally or have a long
time been aware of my existence and my occupation. Now Watson, before I
continue, what can you observe from the physical letter?"
I look at the paper again. "The person is very neat." I say plainly.
"Very well," Sherlock Holmes replies, "and how did you form this
conclusion?"
"There are no visible fingerprints, which would mean the sender
either has very clean fingers, or they were very careful not to touch
the paper. And they must have delivered it here themselves. If someone
else did, it would've gotten dirt on it anyway." I conclude. "Pray
continue your observation. I want to hear a professional's observation
on this."
The content Sherlock Holmes puffs on his pipe and begins. "The
sender is most likely female due to their romantic interest. They most
likely know me personally and not just by occupation since they
informally addressed me by my first name, they speak as though they
have known me personally for a while, and they are confident that they
will be able to speak to me in person. Also, the type-written letters
of my name are worn out as though this person had typed my name many
times before. Perhaps this person writes articles about me in a journal
or paper of some sort. Quite peculiar. Do you follow, my friend?"
"Very clearly," said I, "Just one curiousity, sir. What makes you so
sure the writer is female?"
"Indeed, it is not a certainty, but a most likely probability,"
Holmes replies to my queer question, "It could perhaps be a man
pretending to be a certain woman with whom he has something against and
wants to frame her for something she did not wish to write."
"Holmes, my dear!" I say, slightly taken aback at him not taking
this into consideration, "Is not it possible for you to be the object
of a man's affections? Men throughout history have been known to
occasionally find romantic interest in other men. Have you ever heard
of homosexuality? Or is this lack of knowledge perhaps another one of
those weaknesses I should add to that wonderful list of mine?"
His steel-like grey eyes widen curiously at the emphasis of my
statement. "Why, may I ask, do you feel so strongly towards this?"
"Oh, Holmes," I add, "You know how your oblivious and cruel
tendencies towards love irritate my romantic nature. I am simply
bothered by your lack of knowledge on the subject."
"Perhaps you would be interested in the fact," Holmes begins
cunningly, giving me a look of suspicion, "that I discovered the faint
scent of clean medical gloves on that letter."
His senses astound me yet again. "Are you suspecting me?"
"No, I am merely stating the facts presented upon me,"Holmes says
plainly, then smiles, "Why, are you suspecting yourself? I thank you,
however, for pointing out that it may not necessarily be a female. That
will broaden my horizons, but does not make this case any easier to
solve. On the bright side, an easy case would not be nearly as
entertaining."
It surprised me slightly that he had not further suspected me of the
letter. I fit the description flawlessly, yet he was still scanning his
brain for more information as if to draw out the process in order for
it to be as precise as possible. Surely his excellent brain must know
more than he verbalizes. Is he hiding some important facts from me, as
he did when he did not previously tell me of the letter's scent? Much
to my surprise, it was already five o'clock by the time we had finished
discussing the curious letter. I bid my companion farewell for the
night to leave for dinner with my wife, and promised Holmes I would
come back to Baker Street after dinner-time to-morrow. I went home to
see Mary, but from dinner through midnight, all I could think of was
the fantastic cold and calculating detective I have come to know as my
partner and best friend.